


Phantom

by marimoes



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Compliant, Coping, Developing Relationship, Drinking to Cope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medication, Pain, Post-Time Skip, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: "The screaming that comes at odd times, but it does have one constant: it’s always at night. Like a ghost that visits him in the midnight hour, it possesses his heart and mind. Tugging at him without restraint and Kidd wishes to god it would stop. Maybe it never will.He’d rather die than find out."Kidd deals with the ramifications of losing his arm to Shanks, and the night offers him an answer.
Relationships: Eustass Kid & Killer, Eustass Kid/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 18
Kudos: 106





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> This follows my hc that Kidd deals with Phantom Limb Pain after losing his arm to Shanks.

It’s enticing—darkness. How it holds a silence that the light could never give. A window into a world that ceases to exist before your eyes. Kidd wishes he were like that, that at will he could fade away. Would be easier than dealing with this pain. 

Striking pain that runs up and down his shoulder, extending into the air for a limb that is no longer there. How stupid is his mind to think it’s there anyways? He watched it go with his own eyes, why can’t his body process that? 

Leaned against the edge of his bed, Kidd sits on the floor; it’s worn, wooden, and harshly covered with bits of metal. He swirls the gears in the corner mindlessly, and the chime helps a little. 

Drowns out the screaming in his mind. 

The screaming that comes at odd times, but it does have one constant: it’s always at night. Like a ghost that visits him in the midnight hour, it possesses his heart and mind. Tugging at him without restraint and Kidd wishes to god it would stop. Maybe it never will. 

He’d rather die than find out. 

Throughout this world, the Grandline and further, he thought it was a rather fun thing. He got to knock people’s skulls together, got to adventure with his best friend, and watch him also knock people’s skulls together. But no matter how good of a time it is, there are always drawbacks. 

First and foremost being his arm, of course. He didn’t think that the red haired bastard would be so jealous that he would take his as well. That’s just stupid, and yet, he did it all the same. Tore Kidd’s arm off his body like it was nothing, and for a moment it was. 

It was nothing anymore. 

How desperately he wished to have that damn doctor around then. With his lazy smirk and even lazier drawl, the image of Law conjures in Kidd’s mind. Had he been there, would he have helped him? Would he have made it worse?

The sting of pain pushes further, turning from a sharp plucking of nerves into a fire. It engulfs him all at once, as if he’s bathed in gasoline, and Kidd grits his teeth. Keeping the yell held in his chest, he groans, and his eyes start to water. 

Falling all at once, the gears clang together as they spin trying to settle onto the floor, and the noise that once distracted him is now a burden. It echoes in his mind, the clink and clank of metal that he wields so easily. How it’s now the only way that he can have another arm at all. 

The accused appendage sits, shaded away from any sliver of light on his desk, and Kidd almost calls it to him. If he could look down and see an arm, would his brain stop? Would it still in its painful reminder of what isn’t there? Fire again lurches in his shoulder and the thought is burned away. 

He needs relief—now. 

Grabbing the sake from under his bed, Kidd pulls the cork out roughly with his teeth. It’s bulky, charred from an encounter he can't remember, and a small glimmer of the taste sits on his tongue making his heart beat a little faster. Turning it up onto his lips, he chugs. Simply letting the fires fight in his body, praying that one defeats the other. 

The world slows down a little then, but it’s not for the best. Time stretches and along with it, the pain does the same. It bends and wraps around Kidd’s mind and shoulder, as if it were fingers drawn over his skin by the playful hands of a lover. A sensation that could not be farther from the truth he’s now living. 

If the hands were made of cold steel, nails lit to hundreds of degrees, then maybe it would be the same. 

A knock reverberates on his door. Solid and deep, and Kidd can barely find the energy to look over at it. He says something, maybe tells them to fuck off, he isn’t sure. Nothing is in his ears except the heavy beating of his heart. Nothing that can leave the darkness in which he sits. 

There is a blur of yellow and blue, spots forming before his eyes, and for once he thinks he’s actually managed to do it. Maybe he did drink too much. Maybe this is what dying feels like, seeing an old flame standing in front of you to taunt you as you go. _It would make sense,_ Kidd thinks, _and it’s probably what I deserve._

“You always this noisy in the dark?” Law asks, crouching down in front of Kidd. His eyes are dark beneath his hat, a new one, Kidd notices and blows out in irritation. “Come on now, what’s got you trying to drown yourself in 5 belli sake?” 

Kidd struggles to focus. Law’s words don’t quite make sense to him right now, and whether or not he’s sure what’s going on, Kidd knows one thing: Law is an ass. Whatever it is that the stupid doctor wants now can’t be good if he’s gone through the trouble of getting on his ship. 

Is he finally coming to kill Kidd like he promised to do the day they met? 

Kidd goes to open his mouth in response, but gasps out, airy and weak. His hand drops the bottle to the ground and starts to reach for his shoulder. The burning now itches like it’s digging through to his bone, hotter and harder still, and maybe if he digs too—

A cold thin hand places over his own, but the power in his grip is anything but weak. Law hold him there in the air, eyes scanning Kidd for a moment before sighing. What could he possibly be going on about? He needs to scratch that itch, in his mind, arm, or otherwise. 

“Phantom limb pain,” Law tsks and lets Kidd’s hand go. The pain pulls back and along with it, Kidd pulls his hand back to his chest. Overwhelming urge passing like a sudden breeze and his body feels like the wind took the pain along with it. “Nothing I can do about that.” 

Kidd isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol, but he swears Law sounds sad. 

“Whas that?” Kidd slurs, trying to meet his eye line with Law, but is met with darkness. Law is already stood back up and wandering towards his desk, “Hey! Don’t go touchin’ stuff you ain’t willing to lose!” 

Law turns his gaze back onto Kidd and gives a weak smile. It’s not like his usual smirk that Kidd wants to smack off his face. No, this one holds something more than pride or cockiness. This one is holding a secret. 

Kidd doesn’t like secrets. 

“Phantom limb pain, you drunk.” Law says and scuffs his heel against the floor, “It’s because your mind is trying to reach something that isn’t there anymore, and when something isn’t there anymore that _usually_ means that you’re supposed to be in pain. So, it does that for you. Isn’t that nice?” 

He walks back, slow, like he’s trying to ease up on a wild animal and it nearly drives Kidd mad. With an angered hand wrapping around it, Kidd drags the sake back up to his lips. The alcohol was cheap, yes, but it doesn’t matter. It works all the same when it comes to getting drunk. 

Cold comfort slipping from his hand, Kidd swears as Law takes the bottle. He does it casually, like he asked, and tilts it up against his own lips. He blanches, choking at the taste and sets it down to his other side where Kidd can’t reach it. Not unless he wants to go across Law’s lap. 

That might be a bigger mistake than drinking, though. 

Law sits, talking out loud about the symptoms and Kidd argues. Tells him that he doesn’t have this and that. That maybe Law isn’t such a good doctor after all if he’s getting all of this wrong. Law, with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, tells him to fuck off. This makes Kidd laugh. 

A low, hearty rumble in his chest and he lets his head fall back against the bed. 

The darkness gets heavier. Night pressing a kiss into Kidd’s head and he sighs, completely free of the pain that previously consumed him. He doesn’t even think about Law next to him in his room, and honestly he can’t be bothered to care. 

For sleep is a rare find in times like this and Kidd isn’t so stupid to squander that away. He thinks he hears a click again, but doesn’t wake up enough to address it. Along with it comes a soft murmuring of words. Nearly melodical in nature, they float into Kidd’s ears but only the song processes, leaving the words to die. 

A tingle runs across his body. Feather light sensation drawing circles and odd lines everywhere that could possibly be touched. It’s a weird dream, Kidd admits, and when he hears a sigh he knows that it must be a dream. No one ever sounds that sad after they touch him. 

No one, not even Law. 

“It’s because your mind is trying to reach something that isn’t there anymore.” 

The words slosh around Kidd’s mind when he wakes up. A nasty hangover comes couples along with it and he wishes that when he slept, the alcohol managed to do anything but make him sick. But it does. So, he lays here. 

Arms slung over the side of the bed, knuckles hovering just above the floor, Kidd wakes up. Not well, or happily, but he wakes up, and for some reason Law’s words are in his head. Along with the buzzing of approximately one thousand bees, but they're there. 

The night he had last night was the worst one since he saw Law over a month ago. Out of nowhere, it swept over him like a wave of attacks on a field and he was armed with nothing to defend himself with. How shitty, that his only weapon was more cheap booze. 

Kidd drags himself, literally, out of bed using his powers and even that is too much. He lets the metal prop him up and nudge him forward, and he shoos it away, as if he isn’t the one controlling it. Feet thudding and sliding against the wooden floor, they take him to the kitchen where Killer is already cooking. 

The scent of fresh coffee, strong, so strong it could melt something with how acidic it is, hits Kidd in the face and he blanches. 

“Bone app the teeth, or whatever the fuck they say up North.” Killer says carrying a large pot to the table. It lands with a loud thud and Kidd winces, “Oi, never pegged you fer a weak stomach, Kidd. Haven’t seen you this miserable since the time I put a ‘too much’ hot sauce into the soup.” 

Kidd shoots him a look but drops into the chair, letting his head drop back to hang. The world is loud. The world is dizzy. The world should go back to sleep for fucking once. 

A bowl is placed in front of Kidd and he looks down at it wearily. 

Whatever it is that Killer has decided to fix for them this morning, there is no way that it could ever help him with the massive headache thudding in his head. He hears the slosh of something hit against the ceramic and nearly throws up then. Why does god or whoever the fuck is up there hate him so much?

“Stop your gripin’, it’s oatmeal. Plain. Good. Nutritious, bitch.” Killer says and drops a spoon into it, “Eat up, you’re as useless as your last name when you’re like this.” 

Kidd narrows his eyes at his first mate, “You’re being a real grade A ass this morning. The weird pain thing kicked up again last night and drinking seems to be the only thing that soothes it.”

Killer drops into the chair across the table and scoops his own food out. It steams in front of his face and Killer pours the bowl’s contents straight into his mouth. Kidd kicks his leg beneath the table, but instead of faltering, Killer continues and kicks Kidd right back. 

“Pain thing?” Killer asks setting his bowl back down, “You’re a pain to me, does that mean I get to drink?” 

“Dumbass. The phantom thing, that Trafalgar told me about once.” Kidd scoffs and Killer rolls his eyes, “He came aboard that night! I didn’t dream it.” 

Killer dips out another serving into his bowl while shaking his head. He doesn’t believe Kidd that Law came aboard the ship that night weeks ago. That it was a figment of his drunken imagination, along with the pain that he keeps complaining about. Apparently, Killer thinks he’s using it as an excuse to drink. 

As well as scoring sympathy points with women. 

Neither of these are true, especially given how terrible Killer’s reaction was to it. Kidd has kept quiet to everyone else about his pain and the conversation he had with Law that night. Maybe it was a dream after all. He can’t be completely sure, given that he started drinking _before_ Law got there. 

Right?

“Whatever is wrong with you, you gotta fix it. I think if it’s in your head like ‘Trafalgar’ said it is, then you should just take your mind off of it. Easy.” Killer reasons, tilting his chair back onto a single leg, letting it rock forward and back. 

Of course, _he’s_ casual about this. The scars on Killer’s arms are anything but hidden, and Kidd swore he was going to lose his too. He didn’t, though. Instead, he got a gnarly looking design and, oh yeah, is free from whatever this phantom bullshit is. 

“Fuck off.” Kidd says pushing back from the table, causing the chair to scrape loudly against the floor, “Thanks for the food, it rocked.” 

Killer simply holds up a fist, pouring the rest of his second bowl into his mouth, and Kidd swears he sees him smile. What an ass. Always making light of serious situations, but refusing to laugh—it’s cruel. But then again, it’s Killer, and maybe he’s right. Maybe, if he takes his mind off of the pain it’ll go away. 

* * *

It doesn’t. 

Pain strikes Kidd like a bullet shot from a mile away. It’s unsuspecting, heat seeking, and full of fire. He’s laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, writhing in it. His feet dig into the sheets, pushing hard against the footboard and he hears the wood creak. If he isn’t careful he may just break it. 

What a joke when he himself is about to break. 

Holding out his hand, he calls the den den in the room to him. The snail wincing against the impact of his palm and when Kidd groans out, it starts to ring. Calling the person it knows Kidd wants, the person Kidd always considers dialing but never does. Its soft _purupurupuru_ fills the room and Kidd sucks in another gasp. 

_There is no way he’s going to pick up the phone. He has no reason to, why would he? If I die from this, it’s one less worry that he has in this world._ Kidd’s thoughts stutter and time warps around the sound of the den den. It feels like it’s been ringing for ages, but also no time at all when it clicks in acceptance. 

“Again, hm?” Law asks as he answers, voice low and knowing, and Kidd grits his teeth. 

“Just tell me how to stop this from happening, unless you just enjoy knowing that I suffer.” Kidd says into the dark room, the word ‘suffer’ hanging heavy on his lips. It’s bitter, sinking in admission, and Kidd wants it back. 

“I’m close, if you need me.” Law hums in thought, and Kidd swears he hears him messing with something in the background. A soft clinking of bottles and rattling of pills, if he were to guess. Typical.

Kidd groans, both of irritation and pain, and Law sighs. They always do this, it seems, this game of Russian roulette where the gun is loaded with death in every bullet except one. The one having the nights that they manage to put things aside and fuck, only to fall asleep tangled together and wake miserable the next morning. 

Kidd wishes there were more of those bullets about now.

The last one was used ages ago, back before the world got hard and he lost his arm. Back when he could pin Law down only to find himself flipped around a moment later. It was fun, wild, and more than freeing. Fucking Law was one of the few things that Kidd never knew how it was going to turn out. 

Until his battle with Shanks, that is. 

“You die on me?” Law asks, a small amount of worry starting to seep into his tone. When Kidd huffs a response he sighs, “I guess not. I’ll be over soon.” 

The den den closes its eyes with a soft _catcha,_ and Kidd lets it fall to the bed. _He’s coming here._ The idea seems ludicrous considering who it’s pertaining to, and Kidd wonders if he’s merely dreaming again. Sleep pulls at his eyes and he nearly lets it take him. The only thing that is keeping him awake is the heavy thudding of his heart. 

Each beat drilling into him that Law is on his way over. 

Law. 

_No._ Kidd’s hand clutches back at the den den, fingers fumbling with the side trying to dial Law’s number, but before he can finish it, he hears his door creak open. It’s slow, like the wind pushed it instead of hands, and Kidd keeps his eyes on his ceiling. Maybe it’s a dream. One of those lucid ones, and if he just ignores everything it’ll fade away along with the remnants of his pain. 

“Ooh, already in bed.” Law croons and Kidd almost spits. He hates how his tone can draw him so easily; like a moth to a flame, “Is it the arm again? Still giving you trouble, huh.” 

So, he has been here before. Unless, again, this is another dream and Kidd has finally lost it. Wouldn’t be the most unheard of thing in the world. 

“Fuck off, Trafalgar.” Kidd grumbles and turns to face the wall. He doesn’t want to look at that smug bastard, or hear anything he has to say. He shouldn’t have talked to him on the phone. He should’ve just drank until he fell asleep again. 

That was working, right?

“Now...Eustass-ya.” Law’s voice is quiet, shadowed by the click of his heel as he walks into the room, and it nearly matches Kidd’s heartbeat, “I’m here to help, and apparently things haven’t gotten better. I did a little more digging since last time, and I think I have a solution.” 

Kidd nearly turns over at this, but catches himself, landing on his back instead. He sees Law, again standing at his desk, fiddling with something out of his sight. What an ass, coming in and touching things that aren’t his. He’d likely get dismembered if he tried doing the same on the Tang. 

“Stop touchin’ shit.” Kidd says, voice more of a growl than he intends it, and Law puts whatever was in his hand back down, “Just tell me what you’ve got, and leave me be. I shouldn’t have called you, anyways.” 

Law shoves a hand into his back pocket, and when he pulls it back out Kidd hears it rattle. _Pills_. He was right when he heard them on the phone earlier. They’re probably poison, designed to kill him slowly or some sadistic bullshit like that. 

“If you have anxiety attacks it can make the pain flare up, and in return your anxiety will worsen, and round and round it goes.” Law says, hooking his free hand into his other pocket, examining the container in the low light, “These should help with that. Take one a day, _no alcohol_ , and it should make things easier. Maybe, it’ll even get the stick out of your ass.”

“ _My ass_?” Kidd snaps back, mind still processing the rest of what Law said. _Anxiety?_ “Anxiety? You think I got time for that shit?” 

Law looks down at Kidd, his eyes that terrifyingly gold color that occasionally haunts Kidd’s dreams. He’s dead serious with this, and Kidd wants to crush the bottle in his hand. It’s a weakness, right? To have your own body turn against you like this. Why would he openly admit defeat?

Law shakes the bottle gently, signaling Kidd to take it, and when he doesn’t move, Law tsks. Tossing it gently, it lands on the bed with a soft click and Law turns around to the door. He hesitates, hand still in his pocket and his fingers curl into the hard denim. Kidd watches as the material resists his hold, but still a small shake lingers in his palm. 

“They’ll help?” Kidd hears himself ask, a little too soft for his liking, but it doesn’t matter. Not here, with Law in the dark. Hidden from anything else in the world or even the rest of his ship. Only they exist. “How do you know?” 

Law turns to look back over his shoulder, same look still swimming in his eye by the cold light coming through the window. He blinks, slowly, almost as if he’s considering what to say, and the rest of his body turns with him. Taking a step back to the bed, wordlessly, he holds out his left hand. 

It’s a silent offer, one that Kidd can’t seem to ignore as he pulls himself up to sit. It’s hard — raising up when you only have a single arm to support you — but Kidd likes to think he’s getting the hang of it. Enough so, that when he swings his legs over the side to stay upright, he doesn’t feel like he’s fighting to stay vertical at all. 

Still, this thought is blurry, pushed far to the back of his mind as the rest of it focuses on Law’s extended hand. Is it an offer of peace? Acceptance? What the fuck is he doing holding his hand out to Kidd after he’s done nothing but fight him the entire time? Law never makes any sense. 

That’s why Kidd likes him, he supposes. 

With a firm hand, Kidd grabs onto Law’s. He’s far warmer than his company, a searing heat against a block of ice, and Kidd almost snorts at the comparison. It couldn’t be more true comparing the men and their demeanors, which is why the action is still left unresolved. He wants to help him up? Shake his hand? Break it? 

“You gonna do something or are we gonna just hold hands, dumbass?” Kidd mutters and a low laugh floats from Law’s lips. One that traces down Kidd’s spine like one of Law’s fingers, the morning after a night together. It’s delicate, but dangerous. 

Law bends down, hovering his eye level with Kidd’s, and something about it knots Kidd’s stomach. To be looked down on isn’t something he’s not used to — hell, it’s been most of his life — but to be stared at on an equal ground with Law. It’s more than uncomfortable. 

Like he’s trying to warn him with only his eyes. 

Of what though, Kidd isn’t sure until Law’s lips are on his. The kiss is chaste. Just a quick pressing together before Law pulls back. Most of Kidd fights not to tug him forward again, demanding the taste he knows hides behind the tight line on Law’s face. He knows the sweetness, the fire, and to get close enough, but not get warm, just isn’t enough. 

“Trafalgar.” Is all Kidd says, hand tugging harder at him, trying to keep steady as he attempts to pull Law back down to him. 

Law’s eyes are low, heavy with the words unspoken, and he looks like someone else entirely when he speaks, “Once a day. No alcohol, I’m serious.” 

Pulling his hand away, Law sighs as Kidd grits his teeth. It’s almost like a last goodbye, something far more permanent than any other encounter that they’ve had, and it makes Kidd’s mind swim. This can’t be it, can it? He wouldn’t let this be the last time. 

Would he? 

Law’s hand settles back into his pocket as his other extends before him. The men stare at each other as the darkness is filled with a soft blue light, and when Kidd blinks, Law is gone. 

* * *

He tries. The best that Kidd can, he tries to follow Law’s instructions to take a pill once a day, brushing off Killer when he asks why he isn’t drinking with his breakfast. The excuses get weirder, almost like a new joke, but when Kidd lays down at night he can actually rest. 

Sleep comes to him easier, pain stays far away, and he’s able to survive. The pills start to dwindle, and as Kidd considers calling Law, counting only seven more in the container, a carrier gull drops a package onto the deck. Inside it are more, two bottles full, and a note at the bottom. 

“If you haven’t dumped them into the ocean, here are more. You’re probably running out if you’re taking them right.” 

There is no signature, but Kidd doesn’t need one. If anything, it makes it better, considering who they came from. It bites at him, the separation, and pushes his chest a little harder. Is this what they’ve become? Rivals who fuck to a patient and doctor? How pathetic. 

That night, as Kidd lays staring at the ceiling until he dozes off, the ship jerks. Just a quick push of movement, no doubt from a singular rough wave, but it’s enough to make the pills on his desk rattle. A small taunt that they’re here and Law isn’t. 

A click of recognition that this is all he gets now. 

Kidd calls the den den to his hand, palm squeezing the shell. It wouldn’t be that hard to call him, but that’s a defeat he can’t muster. Not now, not when he wants so much more than to talk. Desire brushing against him like a stray cat, curling its tail around his leg. A gentle weaving in and out, all before scampering away down the road. 

Isn’t the medicine supposed to curb all this?

Kidd feels the gentle throb against his leg, a begging reminder of the man on his mind. How he’s only warm when he’s beneath him, panting and cursing. How he holds Kidd, mangled and in pain, delicious in its execution. The throb turns to a strain, forcing hard against his pants, and Kidd rolls over with a groan. How stupid does he have to be to get hard for a man who clearly doesn’t want to see him?

Chucking the pills against the far wall, he stifles a yell before jerking himself out of his pants. With a heavy, hard hand, he pumps himself quickly. Thoughts swirling faster and faster until he comes on his hand with a shuddering groan. 

Pretty fucking stupid, he guesses. 

* * *

Days turn into weeks, and Kidd doesn’t take the medicine. He’s fine now, after all, it was just a fluke before and since Law doesn’t seem keen on seeing him, he must know that he’s fine. That’s all it is, anyways, and all it ever was. Just a chance to see Kidd rely on him, to once again bend to the surgeon’s will. 

Not anymore. 

Not until it comes back, late one night while Kidd is already asleep. His dreams sinking him further into fire until he awakes with a strangled gasp. Like a twisting knife into the empty space, he desperately tries to claw into the bed where a hand doesn’t exist. Sweat curves around his face, pulling salt from his tears and draws him closer to the edge of darkness. 

It looms, begging him to relent to it and pass out. How easy it would be to fall into the darkness he knows so well. The one that he holds close like a security blanket could now be his doom. If he let it, would he be there waiting for him? A shine in the depth of something greater than he can handle. 

Would Law hold out his hand again? 

* * *

When Kidd again awakens, the first thing that he notices is that it’s still dark. Mostly, at least, as the edge of morning starts to claw its way back up, and he blows out the held breath he was unknowingly holding in his chest. It helps a little, taking some of the pain from before along with it, and he realizes that again there is clicking in his room. 

Gentle, enough that he almost ignores it as the ship rocking one of his trinkets, but no, the sound is intentional. His eyes are stuck together with tears dried between his lashes, plastered together with a makeshift glue of disbelief. It’s disgusting and irritating, but what about Kidd’s life isn’t. 

“You can’t just stop taking them, you dumbass.” Law says, holding a piece of metal up to the rising light. Kidd tries to blink, but rubs his hand against his eyes. Clearing them, he focuses. “If you just drop off of it, they’ll make you worse. Your body can’t handle it.” 

He looks — gone. The darkness hovering beneath Law’s eyes are different than he’s seen before. Not that he doesn’t always look half dead, because he does, and Kidd thinks it works for him. No, this is something different that tugs on Law’s face, aging him more in a few months than Kidd has ever seen. What has he been up to? 

“Why ye here?” Kidd asks, falling back on his pillow. Keeping propped up is no easy task, and sleep still pulls on him like an eager child. A demand to come back to play longer. “Hoped I was a goner?” 

Law turns to look at him, and licks his lips. Not out of teasing or hunger, no he’s spent. Dry and annoyed, not unlike his usual personality, Kidd thinks. Law walks up to the edge of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets, thumbs rubbing against the outer fabric. 

“Why’d you stop?” 

The question hangs in the air between them, sitting with the dust hovering in the dim light, floating down to coat the wood below. Kidd swallows and it pulls at his ears, a suction of sound that reminds him that it’s all real. This is no dream. Law is no ghost. 

Law is all too real, standing here next to him in his quarters. A man who drifts in and out of his life like the pain in his arm. Clawing need along his skin something more akin to ecstasy than torture. How long has it been since they’ve been together like that? 

How long since their bodies molded together, arms wrapped around the other holding them in place? Would it even be the same now? Part of Kidd gone, incomplete. His metal far too harsh and cold to dare place against the skin of a lover, regardless of how different Law is. Kidd has never thought about it, never considered that maybe Law is done with him. 

Always thought that they were playing a game. Running in a circle that never ends, only fighting, fucking, and figuring things out. It’s been fun, but they’re stuck now. A carved out pit in the road never letting them escape the figuring out stage. 

The worst kind of rut. 

“I was fixed.” Kidd replies, the past tense heavy on his tongue. _Was._

“It doesn’t work that way, Eustass-ya.” Law chides, kicking his boot against the edge of the bed, “You have to keep taking it.” 

Kidd narrows his eyes at Law. He’s right, but to admit it to him would be admitting something else. Defeat never an option for him, not even when faced with death. His pride is too heavy. A balance on a scale that is far heavier than anything else that can be placed on the other side. Kidd is weighed down in this world. 

Tied to a stone and left to drown. 

“How does it work then?” Kidd spits, stomach turning with nausea and irritation, “I take them every day until I die? I’d rather just bite it.” 

Law hovers. Staring with that cold look he always seems to have, and Kidd wonders if only his breath is warm. A man from the North with no ounce of heat, but full of fire all the same. How peculiar that he find a warm blooded man with a cold heart to call his vice. 

“If that’s what you want. The pain can go away on its own, but usually it takes a longer time than a month and a half. I wasn’t planning on sending you pills for the rest of your life. Use your head for once.” Law explains, voice rigid like he were talking to someone he’s planning on killing. Not for fun, but for necessity. 

Kidd grumbles. He didn’t think about that, nor did Law tell him in the first place. The way that he presented it was that he would have to do this forever. Why can’t he just use his words for once? Wouldn’t it be easier than being this cryptic?

“You never said that.” Kidd says, and holds out his hand. Something in him hopes that the result is the same. That Law will take it like he took his before. That he’ll come close. That he’ll breathe life into him again. 

Law curls his hand up in his pocket in consideration. Flexing it back out, it slides from his jeans, and he reaches out. Kidd’s hand is rough; even more so now that it’s the only one that he has, and anything that can’t be done with his metal one gets relayed to it. Leaves for more burns. 

Deeper scars. 

Law’s nails dig at the tough skin before curling around it. Kidd jerks him forward, making Law teeter on his heel as he struggles to regain his balance, but Kidd has called part of his arm to him, scooping Law up in it as it attaches. It hugs against his back, icy and hard. All sentimentality from Kidd’s warm hand is fleeting with each moment the metal rests on him. 

“So,” Kidd breathes out into Law’s chest, pulling him between his knees until his head can rest against the black fabric of Law’s shirt, “It’s the arm.” 

Law doesn’t respond to the statement. He only stays still as Kidd holds him closer, hand falling loose of his. Dawn creeps further up the side of the ship, pouring into the port window like fresh collected honey. It’s warmth not reaching their skin, leaving them to fight against the cold of the night for a while longer. 

“You’re the stupidest man I’ve ever had the misfortune of fucking.” Law sighs, and Kidd swears he can hear the butterflies stirring in Law’s stomach, “It’s not the arm. I don’t give a shit what you have, I just didn’t think it would be wise to continue in the New World. Things are different here.” 

“What a load of bullshit!” Kidd bites leaning back to catch Law’s eyes. He finds them, darker than ever under the brim of his hat. Still half lidded, holding secrets that Kidd wishes he could pry out, “Just admit you don’t want to fuck someone as fucked up as me. Stop trying to fix what you think is broken!” 

Law’s hand comes up to curl into Kidd’s shoulder. A hold that says more than his words can. A low, uncertain laugh falls out of Law. It’s not funny, that’s not why he’s laughing. Why the fuck is he laughing?

“If I wanted to fix what was broken, you think my priority would be you?” Law murmurs, voice a mile away, “I was trying to help for once. If you don’t want that help, that’s fine, I’ll leave, and we can meet again on the battlefield. The choice is yours alone.” 

“Why are you always like this? You talk in a circle, confusing the shit out of me. Can’t you just look me in the eye and tell me why you keep showing up? _Why are you haunting me_?” Kidd’s voice breaks at the end, a near weep as the vowels crackle in his mouth. 

Law’s hand reaches up, grazing Kidd’s cheek and he can feel the warmth seep through. Sleep still has its grip on him, and Law wishes that he could feel it too. Far easier to slip back into than the usual hell that continues to await him each night that he falls onto his bed. 

If he can even do that. 

He continues further, letting his fingers slip into Kidd’s hair. They curl around the darkened red, only now being kissed by the light of the sun. He’s on fire, in so many ways, and Law wants to get burned. To finally drown in the flames and feel something for once.

Looking out the port, the sun is now visible on the horizon, and sounds of shuffling above deck draws Law’s attention. He can’t stay too much longer, regardless of how much he wants to, and he can feel Kidd hold him a little tighter. Desperate for an answer to his questions.

“I—” Law starts, and swallows, trying to conjure the right combination up, “It’s better than not seeing you at all. Better than only having you in the rare dreams I get on the nights I finally manage to succumb to sleep. Haunting — is that so bad?” 

Law’s head is pulled forward as Kidd demands his focus. His rough hands curl around Law’s face like they were made to sit there, and the tremble in Kidd’s eyes has faded. He looks certain for once, in a way that he only sees him in battle when he’s staring an enemy down. Law wonders what kind of bloodshed he’s about to witness. 

Kidd presses his lips against Law’s. A strong, forceful push, that makes Law’s knees buckle and sends him into the edge of the bed. Like putty in his hands, Kidd molds him. Pressing Law into him, trying to get a copy of the sensation before he undoubtedly fades away once more. It’s desperate, warm, and unlike any other kiss the two have them have shared. 

The sun strikes the window just right, sending light piercing into Law’s face, and he sighs in frustration against Kidd. The reasoning ignored, Kidd quickly slips his tongue inside, letting it glide across the roof of Law’s mouth. His moan deep from his throat, vibrates Law to his core, making his feet slide helplessly against the floor. 

His ice is melting, just as it always does when touched by the sun. 

“I have to go.” Law says against Kidd’s lips, and only receives an irritated grunt as a response. Kidd’s lips wrap hungrily around Law’s bottom lip, and when Law tugs on his hair he bites down. “Eustass-ya-h” 

Kidd pulls harder, sucking on the wound he created and Law’s pulse presses against his tongue. He doesn’t need anything but this, and he’ll be fine. No medicine or sake in the world can draw him from reality like Law, but he’s far harder to obtain. His cost higher than anything money could buy. 

Law tugs harder, pulling Kidd away from him by the hair. Spit strung between them in a fine line, and Law can see the wild energy dancing across Kidd’s skin. It paints him red, flushed beyond belief, leaving Law nostalgic for when Kidd looks far worse. For when his whole body is splattered with blush and sweat. 

“Take the medicine.” Law says and Kidd pants, narrowing his eyes at the sudden topic, “Take the medicine and I’ll try to be the one that brings it to you.” 

Kidd’s head swims considering the offer, and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. 

“Fair ‘nough.” Kidd pants out and pulls Law back in for another kiss, “You can stay, you know.” 

Law wipes his hand across his bruised mouth, trying to pull in enough air and chuckles. Morning is here, and along with it are expectations. Law doesn’t really like those. 

“I’ll keep haunting you instead — it's more fun that way.” Law says pushing back out of Kidd’s arms, straightening himself out. He realigns his hat with one hand, while flexing Room out with his other. It pushes further than Kidd has seen it in a while, swallowing them both along with his room in blue. 

A bottle of pills rattle to stand on his desk and Kidd blows out an annoyed noise. Law smirks, and again when Kidd blinks, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air along with the pain that’s once again disappeared from his shoulder. The room is just as quiet as it was before, but now the emptiness only magnifies it. 

Lifting up from the bed, he stumbles over to the desk. Irritated, he picks up the bottle, and pours one out in his hand before throwing it down his throat. 

Law’s taste still present when he dry swallows, and a low laugh rumbles from Kidd’s chest. How odd that he could enjoy being haunted. Left to long for the darkness that he once begged to take him. His comfort still hiding in the shaded corners of his room and mind. 

His phantom. 

**Author's Note:**

> Second kiddlaw! I'm really starting to warm up to these two. 
> 
> Tumblr: @noswordstyle  
> Twitter: @__moes__


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